


Whump Bingo Fills

by windsweptfic



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Stocks, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-06-28 15:26:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15709995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsweptfic/pseuds/windsweptfic
Summary: Collection of fills for whump bingo card; tags to be updated as it progresses. First chapter will outline the rest so you can get right to what you want to read.





	1. Listings

**Author's Note:**

> We're just gonna go ahead and slap that explicit tag on right from the start, because lbr, that's probably where this work is headed.
> 
> Drop me a prompt [here](http://wantonlywindswept.tumblr.com/post/177082268992/whump-bingo-prompts)!

Chapter 1: Listings  
Chapter 2: Dislocated Joint (Dishonored, Connor: he's captured by Overseers during the Surge mission)  
Chapter 3: Thwarted Escape (Dishonored, Geoff/Thomas; Geoff is accused of conspiring with heretics)  
Chapter 4: Self-Loathing (Dishonored, Geoff/Thomas; followup to previous chapter)  



	2. Dishonored: Dislocated Joint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [EdgeLaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgeLaur/pseuds/EdgeLaur).

Connor's a bloodied mess by the time they get him bound.

He strangles back a scream as his dislocated shoulder is slammed against the floor, nausea sending bile crawling up the back of his throat. His ears ring with the scraping, grinding shrieks coming from the Overseers' music box, the sounds vibrating in his teeth, thrumming in his bones. He manages to cut off an embarrassing whimper as his wrists are secured tight behind his back, pain slamming through his shoulder and radiating down along his arm.

"Damned Void-touched heretics," the Overseer pinning him down grunts, tightening the rope until it cuts into his skin. "I don't know why Hume wants us to keep some of them alive."

"Bait, probably," the Overseer cranking the music box replies, resting his boot on Connor's shoulder to keep him pinned as the other stands. Black spots claw across his vision as he chokes on his own spit, struggling to regulate his breathing, trying desperately to focus on anything other than the pain.

He and Thomas were out at the refinery when the alarm went up, ordered away after Connor cracked one too many jokes at Billie's expense. Ever since the fuss with Delilah started she's been twitchy, on edge, and he wasn't surprised when she yelled at Thomas to take his 'half-brained, rat-fucking brother' somewhere far, far away from her. And it wasn't like they had anything to do while waiting for Daud to return, so Thomas just rolled his eyes, been entirely lax in defending Connor's honor, and transversed them both away from their master's seething Second. 

It meant that they weren't in Rudshore proper for the initial surprise attack, which felled nearly half a dozen Whalers before they had a chance to respond.

And Thomas--

Connor flinches away from the boot that nudges at his broken ribs, curling up on his side as he tries to think through the mush the music is making of his mind. One of the Overseers scoffs above him, the words distant and muffled, half-heard through the pounding in his ears.

"This one's done. There isn't any fight left in him." 

The music finally slows, stutters and dies, but Connor can't spare the brainpower to be thankful, because he can't remember where Thomas--

_'Go find the kids! I'll check on Kieron and the others.'_

Thomas went to the infirmary. He went to evacuate the injured, while Connor went to the training room for the novices--

"No wonder they keep to the shadows. They're nothing in a standup fight."

Three were already dead when he got there. Some of the older trainees blocked the doors while others escaped; Connor sent them running as well, holding off a handful of Overseers while the novices clambered up out the windows onto the roofs. He made sure they were all through before moving to follow, but then that wretched, wailing _music--_

"They'll remember us: the men who smashed Daud's assassins."

There's a quiet, inquisitive tug at the back of Connor's mind.

He stills immediately, the familiar presence cutting through the fog of pain and disorientation. He manages to send back some jumble of here-listening-ready-waiting that is accepted and acknowledged, a brief touch of reassurance brushing comfortingly against his overtaxed brain.

Connor lets out a soft sigh and slumps against the floor.

"What's wrong?" the Overseer asks suspiciously. "Waiting for the Outsider to help you?"

The boot nudges against his ribs again but this time Connor doesn't react, counting down seconds as he hears something roll quietly across the floor.

"When he regains consciousness we'll gut him," the other declares, cruel glee in his voice. "Slowly."

Connor closes his eyes.

"Yes, yes--"

The concussive force of the chokedust canister exploding rocks through Connor's body, ringing in his ears even if he's spared inhaling the wretched stuff. It takes a few moments to reorient himself but by then he's already been moved, laying on the floor on the opposite side of the training room, the taste of the Void metallic on his tongue.

He opens his eyes just in time to see Daud shove a blade into the musically-inclined Overseer's throat.

The other's slumped over in a pool of blood, dead eyes wide in dumb shock, and Connor allows himself a moment of vicious satisfaction before squirming up onto his knees. Daud withdraws his sword and stalks over, crouching down to cut through the rope keeping Connor's arms wrenched painfully behind his back. 

His features are set in a grimace, rage glittering in his eyes, and Connor's stomach drops when he wonders how many dead Daud has already come across.

"Are you alright?" Daud asks, the words gentle despite the violence written in the set of his jaw, the tight clench of his fists. 

Connor manages a wry, lopsided smile.

"Peachy." He follows Daud's gaze down to his shoulder and winces. "Well, mostly pea--wait, _wait--_ "

He tries to scoot away as Daud reaches for his arm, squawking in protest, but he's injured and Daud is relentless and Connor _yowls_ as the joint is realigned with a sick popping sound. The pain is instantly better but it's still _sore_ , tender and aching, and he whines miserably as Daud strips off his belt and fastens a makeshift sling around his neck and forearm.

"Just leave it," he groans, ineffectively batting at Daud's hands. "It'll be fine long enough to help--"

"I haven't seen Thomas."

The words turn to ash on Connor's tongue.

He lifts his eyes, an icy chill sweeping through his veins. Daud meets his gaze steadily, evenly, with absolutely no judgement in his expression.

They both have always known who Connor would put first between them.

"Go find him," Daud says, forestalling any frank admissions of disloyalty. "Gather up who you can and fall back to the refinery. I'll clean up here."

Connor ducks his head.

"Sir."

"You did well," Daud adds, soft and kind, and Connor doesn't meet his gaze.

"Sir," he murmurs again.

He transverses away with guilt but not regret, alighting atop one of the nearby buildings. He and Thomas owe Daud their lives for sparing them as kids; they gave him their loyalty for how he took them in after. He earned their regard and affection all on his own, and was more than deserving of the way they risked their lives in his employ. If it was anyone else, Connor would have stayed with him without thought.

But it isn't just anyone. 

It's _Thomas_.

So Connor shoves down the remorse, cradles his arm against his chest, and goes to find his brother.


	3. Dishonored: Thwarted Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff/Thomas, for anon. 
> 
> Takes place...sometime during Burrows' reign, but before Corvo's escape?  
> /waves hand vaguely

Geoff couldn't stop shaking.

He closed his eyes--well, _eye_ ; one was already swollen shut from bruising--against the tremors that wracked his limbs, clenching his teeth tightly together. The Overseers had shoved him back into his clothes to hide the marks of torture before locking him in the stocks, but the chill Dunwall night still leeched the heat from his bones. Rats skittered on the peripheral of his hearing and the bright spotlight above kept him from getting any kind of rest, no matter how badly his battered, aching body begged for it.

He had seen a few Watch officers hovering near the entrance to Holger Square, exchanging uneasy looks and whispered words, but none had dared approach. The Abbey held dominion over all things heretical, their power possibly higher than even the Crown--and Geoff had been publicly accused of conspiring with worshippers of the Outsider.

There was no saving him from his fate. 

"Last chance," Overseer Franklin said mildly, standing in front of Geoff's slumped form, "Before I turn in for the night. Tell me where the Whalers are hiding."

Geoff stared dully at the man's shiny, polished boots.

"I don't know," he rasped. The words were rote by now, said and repeated and screamed ad nauseum, and all the more maddening for being true.

Franklin sighed. 

"Very well. We'll speak again in the morning, Captain. Perhaps the stocks will finally help loosen your lying tongue."

Geoff chuckled hollowly as the Overseer's legs disappeared from his vision. He'd long given up telling his captors that their torture was useless on a man who had no answers to give.

They'd come for him at the Watch barracks, dragging him out of his rooms just minutes after he'd turned in for the day. He'd almost shot one before realizing who they were--he hadn't, thankfully, or else he'd likely already be dead--and had forced himself to go with them calmly, despite their accusations, keeping his head up as he was escorted through the whispering crowd of officers. He had nothing to hide; whatever the misunderstanding, he could clear it up quickly enough.

That had been three days ago, and Geoff was exhausted enough that he was beginning to wonder if they were _right_.

But the memory of Thomas' laughing hazel eyes and warm, bright smile always stopped those thoughts in their tracks. 

When the Overseers had begun their interrogation by asking him about the 'mysterious man' he was _involved_ with, Geoff had quickly--if stiffly--pointed out that homosexuality wasn't listed as a sin in the Strictures, even if it was frowned upon. But they'd had no interest in his actual relationship with Thomas: all they had cared about was the man himself. 

The man who had, according to undisclosed witnesses, vanished into thin air one evening after leaving Geoff's quarters.

Geoff felt a rat tugging on the hem of his pantleg; he shifted until it squeaked and skittered away. Most of the vermin were deterred by the bright light, preferring to stay in the shadows, but a few were bold enough to venture out to examine the possible--eventual--source of food. 

Void, he didn't want to die like that. Drowning while the Overseers held his head under water, shot by a firing squad of his own men--those, Geoff could deal with. But being eaten alive...

He shuddered and tugged reflexively on the chains holding the stocks upright, the metal clanking loudly in the quiet square. He might tell the Overseers whatever they wanted to hear if he had to face that kind of grisly death. Void knew he'd already tried telling them the truth.

And Geoff had _tried_ to think on it. Not out of any desire to pass along information--once at least vaguely religious, he was now seriously regretting paying his tithes all these years--but because he wanted to know if it was _true._ He wanted to know if Thomas, the personal bodyguard he had fallen pathetically in love with over the past six months, could actually be the Outsider-touched assassin the Abbey claimed.

Realizing that they might actually be right came with a surprising lack of outrage on Geoff's part, but it had also been after hours of torture and days without sleep, so he didn't dwell too long on his apparent acceptance of the fact that his lover might work for--and be--a notorious murderer.

"...will show?"

Geoff stirred, prying his eyes open wearily. The moon was high in the sky now, illuminating a pair of Overseers lurking in the shadows of an alleyway: both heavily armed, and both far more alert than guards on a regular patrol. Their voices were pitched low but the square was eerily quiet, no nightlife bold enough to intrude on the Abbey's looming silence.

"Dunno. Poor bastard's damned either way."

A chill crawled down Geoff's spine that had nothing to do with the night's frigid temperature. He lifted his head, unease settling in his gut as he scanned the area--and found two more pairs of Overseers waiting in the wings, all looking bored but ready, hidden in the small crevices of the plaza. One of them had a music box strapped to his chest, and, Void--Geoff was _bait._

He tugged anxiously on the stocks encasing his wrists and neck, death by rats suddenly not sounding like a bad option after all. He had only been accused of _conspiring_ with heretics, and the Overseers had brutalized him well enough; what they might do to an actual suspected heretic--

The image of Thomas bound to a torturer's chair hung sick and horrifying in Geoff's mind, stealing the breath from his lungs as he yanked harder on the chains keeping him secured in place. 

"What is he doing?"

"Probably realized nobody's coming to save him--"

The words cut off with a quiet, strangled gurgle; Geoff jerked, looking back to the alleyway with wide eyes. 

A blank-eyed whaling mask stared back at him from the shadows.

The figure wore a blue jacket, standing above the bodies of the two Overseers, darts now sticking out of their necks. Geoff's lips parted with a startled inhalation and the figure raised a finger quickly to the front of their mask, cocking their head to one side, beseeching silence.

After a moment, Geoff closed his mouth.

Satisfied that he wasn't going to raise an alarm, the Whaler nodded and disappeared. Geoff watched as they made their way around the square, silently neutralizing the hidden pairs of Overseers. They moved with a deadly efficiency, body language damnably recognizable, and it only took a few minutes for them to clear the plaza of onlookers. As soon as they were done, they stalked over to pull the lever that released Geoff from the stocks.

He pitched forward into strong, familiar arms.

"Thomas," he whispered.

"Geoff," Thomas rasped, voice distorted through the mask. He pulled it back atop his head as he helped Geoff stretch out his legs, muscles spasming and limbs unresponsive. The heavy guilt on Thomas' features almost veiled the bloodthirsty rage that glinted in his eyes, bright and burning in a way Geoff had never seen before; he was used to Thomas soft-spoken and mild-mannered, with a quiet smile or a trademark deadpan smirk.

Not looking like he'd burn the Abbey to the ground for Geoff's sake. 

"I'm so sorry," Thomas murmured as he dropped his gaze, his hands chafing sensation back into Geoff's numb legs. "They went after you because of me--"

"And I very, _very_ angry about that," Geoff agreed, feeling only a distant bit of satisfaction at Thomas' flinch, "But--"

He reached up, cupping his lover's cheek, tilting Thomas' head until he could look into remorseful hazel eyes.

"You came for me," he said softly. 

Thomas searched his gaze anxiously before he managed the barest ghost of a smile, turning his head to kiss Geoff's palm gently.

"Always," he said. He closed his eyes. "I know I should have told you a long time ago--"

"So you weren't lying after all, Captain."

Thomas' eyes snapped open.

Geoff jerked his head up to see Franklin standing at Thomas' back--

And the low, unsettling sound of the Overseers' music filled the square.

Thomas jerked as if he'd been physically struck, listing to one side as he fumbled for the sword at his belt. His arm shook as he drew it, lips pulled back in a grimace of pain, and Geoff struggled just to get his own legs working, twisting up into a crouch at Thomas' back. A handful of other Overseers were closing in on them like sharks to chum, and as they drew closer Thomas seemed to weaken further, leaning against Geoff heavily.

Geoff had known what the music was supposed to do, but he'd never seen it used on someone before and actually _work_. He'd never been in the presence of anyone Void-touched before.

Not that he had known, at least.

Thomas' blade clattered to the cobblestones and Geoff turned just in time to see his lover drop to the ground on his hands and knees.

"Thomas!"

"I'm honestly surprised he came for you," Franklin observed, stepping closer as Geoff hovered protectively over Thomas' crumpled form. "I hadn't expected an Outsider-worshipping assassin to be capable of something so human as love."

"You don't know _anything,_ " Geoff snarled. "You set yourselves up as a moral authority and terrify people into compliance but you're nothing more than torturers and murderers yourselves--"

A truncheon cracked across his face. 

Stars burst behind his eyelids as the world went black for a few seconds; Geoff tasted blood as he hit the ground. Distantly, he heard Thomas shout.

"We've never been able to get information out of a Whaler before," Franklin commented, crouching in front of Geoff, taking up the entirety of his hazy vision. He glanced over at Thomas for a moment before smiling. "But I think we might have the proper motivation for one, this time."

The truncheon descended again, and Thomas' anguished face was the last thing Geoff saw before oblivion swallowed him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....AND THEN DAUD SWOOPED IN AND SAVED THEM.


	4. Dishonored: Self-Loathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for torture. Followup to Chapter 3, Thwarted Escape.
> 
> Written for...me, because I wanted to. :D

"I'm sorry," Thomas whispered. 

He pressed his forehead against Geoff's fever-hot brow, cradling his lover gently against his chest. 

"I'm so sorry, I should never have... I didn't think things would go this far, that I--that _we_ \--"

He had never expected harmless flirting with a Watch officer who frequented his favorite bar to turn into something important. Something real. Something that _mattered_ , when before the only ones who held his loyalty were his brother and Daud. 

"I never wanted you to get hurt," he said softly.

Geoff shivered in his arms, mumbling in restless sleep. Sweat slicked his skin, plastering his hair against his temples, and Thomas reached up carefully to brush it away. His own hand shook with hunger and the nausea of the music that played constantly over the speakers just outside their cell. But he was infuriatingly untouched, outside of some nasty bruising and the bite of metal shackles into his wrists and ankles, and Thomas could have laughed--bitterly, hysterically--at the insignificance of his injuries compared to Geoff's.

He'd handed the Overseers his weakness on a silver fucking platter when he'd stormed mindlessly into the square, and the bastards knew just how to press.

Thomas' throat was stripped raw from screaming at them to stop.

He scooted closer to the wall behind him, pulling Geoff into his lap as he rested his back against it. The wounds from Geoff's time at the Overseers' hands had only worsened as they layered on more abuse in their efforts to get Thomas to talk; the older lashes burned hot to the touch, intersected by fresher marks already showing signs of infection. Burns lined his chest in punishment for Thomas refusing to reveal Daud's location; nails were missing from Thomas' quickly-ceased tirade of insults and threats snarled in an attempt to bring their attention off of Geoff and onto him. 

Yet through all of it, despite the torment and humiliation and pain, Geoff had never once asked him to make it stop.

Thomas ground his teeth together, forcing his hand to stay gentle and unclenched as he ran his knuckles soothingly across his lover's fevered skin. He'd sobbed apologies as blades cut into Geoff's flesh; he'd begged for forgiveness between cracks of the whip. But he wouldn't betray the Whalers, he _couldn't--_

And Geoff just smiled, exhausted and broken, and whispered that it was okay. 

Thomas swallowed back bile, ceasing his touches in favor of just gathering Geoff in his arms and _clinging_ to him, holding on like next time he would be able to protect him from the Overseers' hands. Heat welled in his eyes; something black and hateful clenched suffocatingly tight around his chest. 

He should have left Geoff alone long before this. He should have faded out of his life like the ghost he acted as, left him to his world of lawful respectability and earnest desire to help people as best he could. 

But Thomas had been too fucking selfish to let him go.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into sweat-damp hair, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking _sorry--_ "

"You better be, you Void-damned shit-for-brains _asshole_."

Thomas jerked his head up. He stared blankly at the Overseer crouching on the other side of the bars--who definitely wasn't an Overseer behind that golden rictus mask.

_"Connor?"_

"I swear on the Outsider's _fucking_ balls that once we've gotten you clear I will _kill you myself--_ "

"We?" Thomas rasped, straightening up, readjusting to lean Geoff carefully against the wall. He watched as Connor made quick work of the lock before pulling open the door to step inside.

"You think I'd be stupid enough to come to the Abbey without backup?" Connor returned scathingly. 

A few seconds later, the music coming through the loudspeakers ground to a halt.

Despite the words, Connor's hands were gentle as he helped Thomas to his feet, pulling him into a fierce hug. Thomas held onto him tightly, the dawning reality of escape finally hitting as he dug his fingers into his twin's shoulders.

"Come on," Connor said, pulling away. "Let's get you out of here."

Thomas stared at him for a moment before glancing back at Geoff, panic rising in his throat.

"I'm not-- I won't _leave him_ \--"

"Yes, we assumed that."

Thomas gaped as Daud walked into the cell, clad brazenly in his usual red coat despite being in the heart of the Abbey. Sharp eyes assessed Thomas quickly for injuries, a hint of surprise flickering in their depths before they came to rest on Geoff. 

Understanding softened the tight line of his mouth.

"You really do love him," Daud murmured. 

The Overseers wouldn't have tried to use Geoff as leverage if he didn't.

Thomas just nodded, his throat tight, and Daud stepped past him to crouch down, gathering Geoff in his arms. Thomas almost wanted to protest--he didn't want _anyone_ to touch Geoff, not now, not _ever again_ \--but he knew he was in no condition to help, either. 

Daud straightened up, Geoff cradled carefully against his chest, and the dark miasma of guilt and self-loathing twined tighter around Thomas' heart at the sight of his lover and mentor sharing the same space. He had never wanted those two parts of his life to intersect; he had never wanted to show Geoff the world he actually lived in, where he was an assassin who traded lives for coin.

Connor's hand rested on Thomas' shoulder, the Void coiling around them, and the four men disappeared from the Abbey in wisps of inky ash.


End file.
